the harder parts of life.

All of Me

is it pathetic that even after all is said and done i still can't help it?

can't help but want, crave, and need it? it's my addiction, the drug i take to stay alive.

I suppose it's my fault, it always has been.

something must be wrong... everytime i look in the mirror, my image is less clear.

im fading away. but it's okay.

I'm not good enough for you, and i'm never what you

really wanted; i know that now.

-and i don't take it personally anymore.

Just an easy fix to a bad situation, the band-aid meant to hide the wound.

I wasn't good enough for her either, not good enough to keep.

Not good enough for him,

-he deserves better, he should have better.

You, you're the one that hears the splash, the screams, the anguish.

and all as i look up, all i can see is the twisted smirk on your face.

A smirk of displeasure, only an inconveniance; merely a problem to be fixed.

Is it sad that with my last though, the last moment of life, i'll have been consumed

with the hope that I'm good enough to die.

Hoping that I'll be pretty enough-

or gruesome enough, in death as  i never seemed to be in life, to make you happy.

That's all I've ever wanted, but maybe it's okay.

I never was, and never will be good enough for you.

It wasn't meant to be this way-

-but that doesn't mean it's not better.

because it is

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